Another Morning

It’s another morning here, miles away
No, lifetimes away
Away from the evenings of shared smiles
As we straddled, haggled with the vendors

I see another row of neatly arranged boxes
No, cartons that carry food
Not just to exist, but survive
Survive the mundane conversations on right and left

Another sun here shines bright at my smile
No, a stifled sob, a swallowed grief
On the murder of throbbing life
Painted on the outside with hollow laughter and love

Yet another ride, high over the seas
No, over the highway of life
Only, I don’t fear the potholes of your tradition
Of love paid only through the needle of your sacred thread

It’s another evening here, dreams away
No, nightmares away
Away from the mornings of prayerful submission
To purified stone gods that putrefied the soul

I see another of row of bright yellow flowers
No, little love poems floating in my garden
Not just to cuddle, but live
Live to see the face of truth, face of pain, the face of God

Sickled Through!

When the lights dim
As a thousand stars light the dark sky
Your words lit the darkness that clouded my heart
Slowly, but surely
You nudged away the flickering light
Stationed yourself as my reading light

Was it a mistake?
A slip of your tongue.
An error in my understanding
Or in your lesson
Words from your mouth
Sweet nothings, faded, as the lights went out

A buzz you were in the depths of my heart
An imagination is what you think
Perhaps you are right
As always
Crashed yourself in
And walked away like none happened

Can you possibly know this?
Perhaps, never again
Will you take this road again.
I may be standing,
Please be informed, there’s no more me
For, you have sickled me through

Keys

Between door hinges, atop the window panes
I have hidden the keys to my house
As you stand knocking, the same strange
Smell of blood wafts through the hinge
Shutting up my ears, running helter skelter
Groping in the dark, finding more darkness
Human-shaped shadows
Hope-shaped jokes
Yet another crash awaits my house
Yet another thunder bolt
Your knock grows louder, as the first cracks start to appear
I hear your receding foot steps
Yet again, the doors have broken
Yet again, I lock my door alone
Struggling to hide the keys
Where there are no more hinges or windows
Where there is no more a house
Only keys to remind the house of dreams

Sleepwalking

In the depth of my sleep, within my dark room
Within recesses of memory
A vision of uncertainty
Clouds my heart, awakening years
Of untold stories
Of wordless guilt
Of unconfessed pain
Of timeless, elusive search

Dried, forgotten tears

Dying strains of sound buried in a mire of silence
Sounds of despair, of hope, of undead love
An unquestioned birth into mirth
Silent, muted voices of dissent
Consumed in consumerist rusting of soul
Rotting of mind,
Unshed tears of wordless, numbing pain

Retreating within a cocoon of notes, blinded by darkness
Borrowed lines of expression
Of intimate pain, of sorrow, of loneliness in a desert
Parched, dry wells of living water
Bounded in boundaries of love and lust
Putrefying of soul,
Unspoken words of violence, stinging consent

(Ps: Written while listening to Bheegi Bheegi from the Hindi film, Gangster)

The Holy War of Redemption

Will I hear the children again?
Oh mother land
You broke my home
My life, my name, my identity

Will I see the sea beyond the smoking corpses?
Oh neighbour
You drank my blood
My garden, my labour, my ethnicity, my liberty

Will I hear the birds sing beyond the hills?
Oh lover
You killed me in my sleep
My passion, my pain, my pleasure, my sweat

Will I see the rain again from my home?
Oh friend
You drew your dagger through my heart
My love, my friendship, my land, my roof

Will I taste the sweet springs in the jungles?
Oh soldier
You tasted my blood on your sword
My soul, my heart, my mind, my body

Disgust

Bitterness, fermented
Spiraling expectations
A lost heart
A rotten soul

Anger, rusted
Gnawing at the pit of the stomach
A bygone era
A fallen hope

Questions, unanswered
Silent hanging
A lacuna of desire
A lake of bile

Marbles, held intact
Godly obedience, consent manufactured
A sea of want and need
A search in darkness

Strange Fruit

Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.